


Loaded Dice

by dracox_serdriel



Series: Another Chance at the Brass Ring, or Season 9 Fan Fiction [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: A Little More Human, Alternate Season/Series 09, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bickering, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Destiel - Freeform, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Gen, Ghost/Spirit, Hurt Dean Winchester, Illinois, Innuendo, M/M, Mild Language, Monster of the Week, Murder Most Foul, Nightmares, Possession, Protective Castiel, Protective Sam Winchester, Psychological Horror, Slash, Wraith, grave desecration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:35:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracox_serdriel/pseuds/dracox_serdriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam takes a chance on a new alliance and picks up a case where ordinary people turn into frantic spree killers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hustler

**Author's Note:**

> **Canon spoilers** : This may contain spoilers from any canon episode of Supernatural through 08x20 "Pac-Man Fever."
> 
>  **THEN**  
>  [[09x01 – Summertime Blues](http://archiveofourown.org/works/922542)]  
> Castiel agreed to be a little more human in the field to avoid angelic assassins.  
> [[09x02 - Gimme a Bullet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/922568)]  
> An FBI Agent approached Sam about handling supernatural crimes. Dean and Cas discovered a way to prevent angel-related explosions related to emotion.

**Springfield, Illinois**. Amy Wilson stood next to her sixty-seven-year-old mother. She looked so helpless on the slab, a Y-shaped incision brutally stitched on her chest. 

"Mom," Amy whispered. "I'm sorry..."

The coroner came in, his grey eyes warm and sad. "I'm Doctor Hastings, you must be Mrs. Wilson?" 

"Yes, that's me, we spoke on the phone," she replied. "I just... needed to know."

Hastings put his hand on her shoulder, gently comforting her. "I did the autopsy myself. I can assure you that no malpractice took place... the surgery removed the tumor completely. I could tell the surgeon who did it was very skilled. She had started to heal."

"Then why is she dead?" Amy sobbed. She put her head in her hands, covering her face. 

Hastings took her hands and looked into her eyes. "Your mother was very sick, and her body couldn't recover. It was, as people say, her time. I'm very sorry for your loss. I've filled out all the paperwork for you. If you need anything, please call my office."

That made her feel better. She nodded and thanked the doctor, who gave her a few minutes alone to say goodbye.

She got into her Taurus feeling relaxed, but by the time she got home her nerves were on edge. The coroner seemed awfully certain there was no malpractice. What were his qualifications again? How could he know that she didn't die of complications? Couldn't he have missed something?

By the time she opened the door to her house, venom bubbled up into her skull. She couldn't explain it, this instinct, but she knew something was going on. 

"Honey," her husband John said from the living room. "How are you?"

"Something's wrong," she said. Her voice shook.

"What?"

"I think those bastards killed my mom," she said, certainty seeping into her with every word. 

"Did the coroner say something?" he asked. 

His voice pissed her off. 

"He said he was certain there was no malpractice, that she just died because she was suppose to die!" Amy screamed. 

She hated how her husband backed away from her, yellow-bellied and ridiculous. How could she have ever loved this gnat?

"Honey? That's – that's good news isn't it?"

"No, you idiot!" she yelled. "Don't you get it you spineless flea? He's in their pocket!"

"Whose pocket?"

"Those bastards who killed her, they covered it up. They paid him off. Those doctors!" 

She shoved her husband into the kitchen, throwing him almost across the room. 

"They killed my mother, and they're going to get away with it! You think that's good news, you mindless sonova bitch?"

"Amy, what's..." he began.

"Don't you dare say my name! You're one of them! You're helping them!"

She picked up the large steak knife from the set kept on the kitchen counter, sure to conceal it. As she closed in on him, he realized she might be having a breakdown. She had just lost her mother, hadn't she?

He moved closer and said, "No, never. If someone killed your mother, we'll find out and make them pay."

Amy smiled, finally relaxing. She said, "We will."

John thought he had reached her, assured her, but that notion was obliterated when he felt the jolt of a long knife pierce his abdomen. 

"In fact, I am," she said, smile on her face just like their wedding day. "I will. All of you."

And she just kept stabbing.

 

Dean worked on his baby, the Impala. It was just a regular tune up, but without TLC, she'd fall apart. He checked under the car to make sure everything was in order. 

It was when he was under the car. The lights flickered. 

"Damnit, Cas, you're not suppose to use angel mojo out in the open like this," Dean said as he rolled out from under the car. 

It wasn't Cas. Instead, Crowley sat on the roof of Dean's ride, malice evident in every etch of his face. 

"Cas isn't here, kitten," Crowley crooned. "But I am."

All the air blasted out of his lungs. Several of the tools he had just been using floated up to his face. 

"You tried to shut me down, Dean, but let's be reasonable, here. How many rules have you broken? How many endings have you stopped? You tore up the Apocalypse. You really think that the god-rock-crap would remain perfect?"

"No, you're dead," Dean choked out.

"Wrong again!" the smile on Crowley's face made his eyes red. "You see, Dean, when you poke holes in the fabric of the universe, they affect more than just your small-sighted little plans. You gave me and mine a, how do you say? Oh, a backdoor back to Earth."

"Crowley – no!"

"Just so you know, after I'm done with you, I'm getting your brother and that pet angel lover boy of yours. All of you are coming home with me tonight, boys!" 

Crowley's laugher became huge as the tools moved towards Dean's body. They slashed at him, started to tear him apart, and the pain radiated through him, worse than being torn up by a hellhound.

Smack! A hand went hard against his face. Smack! Again. Smack! Smack!

"Sonovabitch!" Dean cried out. 

"Dean? Dean?" Two voices interchangeably called to him. 

"Crow – Crowley?" It took Dean a moment to realize what was happening. He wasn't outside. He was in a motel bed. 

Castiel was straddling his chest, and not in a good way. He had Dean's collar in his hands. 

"Cas, you were slapping me?" Dean asked stupidly. 

"Uh, yeah," Sam's annoyed voice came from the other motel bed. "I told him to."

"I found it unpleasant," Cas said quietly to Dean, "but you needed to wake up."

Dean sat up, but Cas kept his arm around his neck and his other hand on Dean's knee.

"I was having a nightmare, I think," Dean began. He suddenly realized he was covered with sweat.

"Your heartbeat was at one hundred and sixty," Cas said.

"And you were screaming bloody murder," Sam added.

"What was the dream about?" the angel asked.

"Crowley... came back. Alive. Said we'd punched some hole in the fabric and now demons could get out." After he said this, he realized how profoundly senseless it seemed. 

"The demons cannot get out," Cas told him. "Sam locked them away for good."

"And even if they did get free, Crowley is dead. Like dead dead. Okay?" Sam pointed out.

"I know that. It's probably just the case we're working now..." Dean muttered. 

Sam and Cas looked at one another. 'Damn it,' Dean thought to himself, 'simultaneous looks of concern? That can't be a good thing.'

Sam spoke. "What case?"

Then Dean remembered. They weren't working a case at all. They'd agreed that Sam needed his own car at the Bunker. The area police had already noticed the dramatic increase in car thefts for Winchester "emergencies" where Sam, left at the Bunker, had to meet up with Dean. The last thing they needed was to draw a bull's-eye on their lair. 

The idea of getting therapy from his brother and boyfriend in their pajamas was just too girly for Dean. He had to shut this down.

"My subconscious is just being a bitch, okay," Dean said bitterly. "Can we get back to sleep?"


	2. Rattlesnake

Dean dropped Sam off at a used car lot. Cas insisted that they leave the younger Winchester to find his own car, so they went for breakfast at a local diner. 

After they ordered, Cas became very quiet and stared straight at Dean.

"Cas, I told you, the staring," Dean said.

"Tell me about your dream," Cas said.

"What?"

"The dream you had last night, the one Sam and I had to wake you from. What was it about?"

"I don't really remember it," he replied. "Honestly, I don't. It was messed up, you woke me up, no big deal."

"I had to slap your face, hard, more than three times, Dean," the angel insisted. 

The waiter stopped and looked abjectly at him and froze, still balancing Dean's bacon sausage muffin on and Cas's bacon and eggs on her arm. She stood like that for a solid minute.

"To wake him from a bad dream," Cas explained to her finally.

"Oh, right, sorry," she said quickly as she set down their breakfast. "Didn't mean to make a fuss, me. Not my business. Enjoy, yeah?"

With that, she rushed off to another table.

"It shouldn't be that difficult to wake you from sleep," Cas continued.

"I'm a deep sleeper."

"During normal REM sleep, a human can't – "

" – don't start with that stuff, Cas!"

"I'm concerned that what you had was not a dream," the angel explained. "Tell me about it."

Dean almost dropped his sausage. "What the hell else could it be?"

"When angels visit humans in their dreams, sometimes they can hold them in that state, stop them from waking up."

"You think an angel was doing this to me?"

"Angels aren't the only creatures that can do it. That is why you need to tell me its contents." 

"It was just Crowley being all menacing, okay?" 

Cas awkwardly put his hand on Dean's from across the table, but Dean liked it anyway. 

"Promise me you'll tell me if you have another like it."

"Cas – "

"Promise me," he insisted. His blue eyes were steely blue and serious.

"Fine. I promise. Can we eat now?" 

Cas smiled and started eating. The angel enjoyed food. It was one of the few things that didn't bother him about being a little more human in the field.

 

Sam wanted to buy the '69 Dodge Charger. It needed some fixing up, but it would give the Impala a run for its money. 

Unfortunately, his mind nagged him about its practicality. Having two easily identified cars wouldn't be strategic, and it would make far more sense to purchase a more inconspicuous vehicle. 

That's how he came to the truck and minivan section of the lot. A '91 Black Dodge Ram caught his eye: two door, fitted with a cap, shined up like a diamond. The car already had hauling equipment. In many ways, it was literally the opposite of the Impala.

Sam took out his phone. He asked Dean to let him pick the car alone not because he wanted to duck his brother's snide remarks, although that was also true. He wanted to make a call in private without Cas's super-hearing nearby. 

He dialed the number from the business card that Dodge had given him. 

"Agent Gage," she said.

"Hi, Dodge? It's Sam Winchester."

"I'm glad you called." 

"Look, I'm not promising anything, but I looked through those files you gave me, and I get it."

"You want to help?" she asked. 

"Yeah, I guess." Sam paused. "Honestly, I'm not sure if I can trust you, and my brother wants nothing to do with any of this."

"I understand, trust takes time," Dodge replied. "But time is one thing I don't have."

"What?"

"There's something happening in Illinois. I've been trying to find something to make the case federal, but my boss shut me down."

"What's going on?"

"A series of strange murders in Springfield. General idea: someone goes crazy and kills off their family and pretty much anyone else nearby. Afterwards, it's like they don't know what's going on. So far, none of them are in any shape to do more than stutter and drool. Three in the last three months."

"Like I said, I can't promise anything," Sam said. "But I'll check it out and see what I can do."

 

"Sammy, you've done a lot of crazy crap in your time, but this," Dean said. "You're off the deep end."

"It was this or a minivan," Sam replied. 

"I don't understand," Castiel commented. "This car seems adequately manly."

Sam laughed. "Thanks, I guess."

"Right, then, let's get haulin'," Dean said as he went to the Impala.

"I'm going to take her out for a spin," Sam replied. "Don't wait up for me, okay?"

Dean sized Sam up, wondering if he was hiding something. He decided he wasn't. 

"Okay, have fun in your truck."

 

Amy Wilson sat in a locked room with full on straightjacket restraints.

"She's been incoherent and violent since we brought her in," said Dr. Craig Akins. "We haven't been able to get anything out of her."

Sam looked in on the woman. She muttered to herself, and her eyes darted around as if following something slithering through her room. When she went into a screaming fit, Craig pulled Sam away and shut the window.

"You said there were others?" Sam asked. 

"Well, two others have come in just like this. One of them committed suicide about a week ago."

"Any signs of drugs or poison?" 

The doctor shook his head. "All the tests came back clean. No response to treatment regimens."

"And this woman, she was caught attacking someone?" he asked.

"After she killed her husband and father, she went after a surgical nurse and a doctor," replied Craig.

"You know why?"

"No but the cops might be able to shed some light on that."

"Right. Thanks for your time."

Sam left the building and pulled his phone out by his car. "Dean," he said. "I think I've got a case out in Illinois."

"Seriously? You went for a spin and wound up with a case in Illinois? All right, it's gonna take me and Cas a few hours to get there," Dean replied. "I'll pack a bag and head out in ten."

"No, I've got it covered right now," Sam said. "I mean, maybe you can head out tomorrow."

"Yeah, that'll give me time to give Cas a few more firearm lessons."

"Both of you? Even better. See you sometime tomorrow," he said before he hung up.

Sam popped into his new pickup and headed for the closest motel.

 

POP! POP! POP! Three hits landed in the eight ring.

"This is useless," Cas complained. "I can't hit anything from this far."

"What're you talking about?" Dean shot back. "Look at your shots."

"They're not on the center ring like you wanted."

"No, but, look at them."

The angel did. All the hits landed right on top of each other, forming a single hole. 

"What about it?" Cas asked.

"Okay, you're accuracy is medium, needs work," Dean explained as patiently as possible. "But your shots are precise."

"I don't understand."

Dean's patience evaporated. He said, "You shoot well, Cas. Hitting the center is just about practice, developing hand-eye coordination."

"You sound upset."

"I'm not upset," Dean seethed. "We've been at this for a few hours, and I need a break, that's all."

"You said I needed to train with both shotguns and handguns," Castiel said defensively. "And admittedly the handguns are more difficult for me – "

Dean put his hand on Cas's shoulder. He meant it to be a manly gesture, one of support, but Cas read it as a sign to stand down and slouched. 

"Cas, you're doing great."

"You're just saying that to placate me."

"No, I'm not."

Tension built as Cas took the clip from the weapon. 

"Don't do this," Dean started. "Cas – "

"It might be best to set aside time for me to train without your assistance," the angel interrupted. 

"Now you're not being fair."

"I'm not being fair. How?"

"Because you're a freaking angel! You don't need to eat or rest or anything!"

"And you do." It was a statement. 

Castiel understood. 

"So when I say I need a break, that's all I mean," Deain said. "There is no hidden subtext or any of that crap."

"Perhaps you can find a way to tell me these things without raising your voice," Cas replied. His sharpness vibrated through Dean; he wasn't sure when that had started. Did he suddenly become more aware of Cas's smiting voice, or was this relationship crap? He hated that he didn't know.

"I'm... sorry," Dean said. But he wasn't sorry, just frustrated. "I'll try."

"You should eat something, and get some rest," Cas said. "You didn't even sleep four hours last night."

Dean bit back his urge to snap at Cas over things like his sleeping and eating. Part of him knew that having people care about that crap was a good thing, but another part of him squirmed at the thought of someone keeping tabs.

"You seem conflicted," Cas commented. 

"What?"

"Your expression."

"Cas, I'm – "

The angel stole one of Dean's best moves. He swept in with a very close kiss. It was soft and a little wet, and at the end they were only inches apart. 

"You're a good teacher, Dean, thank you."

Just like that, Dean felt better. He joked, "You really shouldn't kiss a guy with so many guns around, Cas."

The angel laughed, which Dean did not expect at all. 

"We should pack these up for the road," Dean said. "Pick a few that you liked best."

"Where're we going?"

"Illinois, Sam found a case. We're heading out tomorrow."

It had taken them an entire day to angel-proof a room so that Cas could enter and exist freely but not have angel mojo while inside. The sigil Sam found worked, but its placement in the room had been difficult since any disturbance to its shape would render it useless. Eventually they lined it in the insulation, which mean that Cas would no longer have angel-power-hiccups, like exploding light bulbs during a make-out session or destroying most of Rufus's Cabin during sex. At last Dean and Cas had their 'Safe Sex' room up and running, and the elder Winchester would be damned if he didn't try it out tonight with Sam away.

 

Sam openly gawked at the sight of Cas in a cheap black suit. 

"Is something wrong?" the angel asked. No matter what he wore, his stone-still composure read through the attire.

"No, just, I haven't seen you out of your trench coat," Sam said, then immediately regretted it. 

Luckily Dean's retort was stifled by the approach of the coroner Hastings.

"Agents?" Hastings asked.

"Yes, Stills, Ward, and Colwell," Dean introduced. "We're here to see John Wilson and Richard Hammings."

The coroner led them into the morgue, but he stopped them outside the door. 

"Oh, wait a second, Agents," he said quietly.

"What?" Dean asked. "Gotta head count limit?"

"A young man came in to identify his brother," he replied. "He's still in there. Do you mind if I take a minute and ask him to leave myself?"

"Seriously?" Dean remarked. "Is that really necessary?"

Hastings looked Dean right in the face and said, "The man just found out he lost his brother. I don't think having the FBI eject him from the room will make his life any easier."

"Of course, you're right. We'll be out here," Sam said.

Hastings stepped into the morgue. 

"Sam and the doctor have a point, Dean. Empathy isn't your strong suit," the angel said.

"Sam's just defending the guy because if he was a death doctor he'd be just like him, all comforting and crap."

Sam saw what Dean meant. Hastings led a young, crying man with messy black hair out of the morgue, guiding him gently by the arm.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," he said. "We'll take good care of your brother's remains here."

After the crying man left the hall, which took far too long for Dean, they rolled into the morgue. Hastings pulled out two adjacent slabs. Both bodies were covered in stab wounds and long, deep gashes. 

Hastings announced, "Cause of death exsanguination."

"I'd say," Sam said. "You ever seen anything like this before, doc?"

The coroner replied, "Only if you count urban legends."

"What legend?" Castiel asked. 

"At the old hospital building, apparently there was some woman who killed like this. Frenzied slashes. The legend's got some name like Susie Slasher or something. Anyway, all the comic book illustrations look like this."

Sam nodded. "Thanks. Could you give us a minute?"

Hastings left.

"I don't sense any EMF," the angel said.

"They wouldn't have any, the ghost didn't possess them," Sam replied. "You getting anything at all, Cas?"

The angel shook his head. "Nothing nefarious, other than the murder." He paused. "Wait, there is something else."

"Enlighten us before Doctor Touchy Feely gets back," Dean said.

"Their brains are missing. All their other organs are in that refrigerator," Cas pointed to the dock across the room.

Sam shook his head. "No, they're just in solution. Standard autopsy practice."

"Okay, so I guess that means we're looking into Susie Slasher at the old hospital, then?" Dean asked. 

"I'll head to the library. Can you and Cas check out the other two cases: Jason Harp and Trystan Madden?"

"Okay, go team," Dean replied dryly.


	3. Lady Luck

Dean gnawed on his bacon cheeseburger while Sam spread the case files out across the room.

"What'dya find?" Dean said with his mouth full.

"A lot of nothing," Sam huffed. "Susie Slasher is a local legend but not actually a person who lived and died. Some of them attribute her to a local woman who lost it and killed her family, another to a drifter... basically, just a campfire story."

"That doesn't mean there wasn't a person who started it all," Dean reminded Sam. "We found something – "

Castiel cut him off to prevent him from spitting out bits of bacon as he spoke. "All the individuals visited family members in the old hospital building a few days before slaughtering their families." 

"Yeah, but Cas didn't pick up any EMF there," Dean added. 

"It's possible that the EMF is gone because the spirit is no longer active at the hospital."

"Like when Bobby's spirit batteries were drained," Sam commented. "We wouldn't get any EMF because he was taking a ghost nap."

"So Casper the Evil Possessing Ghost could be napping?" Dean scoffed incredulously. "Awesome."

"The killings were all about a month apart," Sam continued. "It's possible."

"So how do we figure out to gank her?" Dean asked.

"If it is a spirit, it's picking people at that hospital for a reason, so we just have to figure out who died bloody and horribly there," Sam said.

"In an old hospital building that contains the insanity and prisoner wards?" Castiel asked, his tone suspiciously miming Dean's skeptical voice. 

"We've got our work cut out for us," Sam agreed. 

The younger Winchester sorted through the files on the bed, laying them out chronologically. 

"Huh. Our first victim, Jason Harp killed himself over a week ago, right before Amy Wilson went on her rampage," Sam said.

"He also spoke lucidly to the doctor," the angel added. "About two hours before asphyxiating himself."

That caught Sam's attention. "He asphyxiated himself? How?"

Castiel spoke, his usual monotone making the statement all the creepier. "He used a part of the restraints to pinch his nose shut and purposely choked himself on another part that he chewed off."

"That'll stand out," Sam said. 

"But the other two killers are still kicking," Dean said. "So if this is some kind of spirit possession, what the hell? I mean, since when did the ghostly bits stick when the spirit moved on?"

"I don't know, but we should figure out who that ghost was before it takes another victim," Sam stated simply.

"If the pattern holds, we've got, what, at least a week, right?"

 

Jared Bennett had never been able to manage his hair. Hair stylists and dermatologists alike had done little more than contain its unruly nature. Hair gel and other styling products only added to the mayhem. Indeed, the only time Jared's hair had looked clean and right was when he shaved it down to a quarter-inch length and even that revealed the odd growth patterns against the fair skin of his head. 

It had been his baby brother James that recommended 'letting it be.' James told Jared that his hair was like his spirit: wild, free, and all over the place. How could that be a bad thing? James made him feel like he could do anything.

Anything. All because of James. And now, because of some two-bit alcoholic, James was bloodied up in the morgue. The sight of it reared up in Jared like a snake. A fire boiled in his chest, raging for release. The other driver was going to pay for what he did to his brother. That's for damn sure.

 

"Can you give us the name of anyone who died in a manner similar to this?" Castiel asked the bewildered doctor. 

Dean and Sam both agreed the old hospital building was creepy enough to house some kind of ghost, but the doctors didn't seem eager to help them identify patients who had offed themselves in the general vicinity. 

"Why is the FBI interested in this?" the doctor asked.

"Can you answer the question?" Dean interjected before Cas said something stupid.

"No, sorry, I've only been here two years, and this is the first time I've seen anyone... do that."

"Thank you for your time," Sam said sensibly. He had caught sight of a squirmy janitor not too far from them. Either there was one hell of a mess over there, or he was waiting for them to finish up with the doctor. 

The doctor rushed off, clearly put-out by the conversation. Sam made a bee-line for the guy with the mop. 

"Excuse me, Floyd," Sam said, noticing his nametag. "How long have you worked here?"

"Long as I remember," replied Floyd. 

"Do you remember any similar deaths to – "

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Hard to forget."

"You remember a name?" Dean pressed. 

"Zach Calabrese," Floyd replied. "About twenty years ago. Badly abused by his parents, got put away here after killing a bunch of people... he was convinced his parents had him locked up because they couldn't keep him down anymore."

"He was paranoid?" Sam asked.

"Putting it lightly," the janitor replied. "This place has a lotta bad in it, but a lotta good.... Zach Calabrese, though, he made it a hard place to be in."

"Of course," Dean said, pulling Sam and Castiel away from Floyd. He had become rigid and shaky and had started to draw attention. "Thanks, uh, Floyd," Dean added.

"Zach Calabrese, now all we need is a grave."

 

Calabrese had been buried in the cemetery on the outskirts of town named Tearful Stones, which the asylum set up for individuals who had no family to bury them. 

They waited till nightfall to drive out. Sam noticed how much faster it went, digging with Cas. He didn't need breaks and didn't seem to mind the manual labor. 

Sam broke the casket opened and dropped salt over the bones. Dean did the kerosene. 

"Sorry, Zach," Dean said, setting his lighter. "You're freaky murdering days are done." 

The bones flared up hard and hot. They waited for the fire to burn out and, on the angel's insistence, covered the grave back up again.

 

Jared stumbled into the old hospital building. "I'm here to see Clark Dodds," he said to the nurse behind the desk. 

"The cops just finished up with him. You'll be able to see him during regular visiting hours tomorrow. He's being moved to the main wing of the hospital," the nurse replied.

"Why?"

"The cops just kept him here till he woke up for questioning."

"They're just letting him go?"

The nurse didn't reply. 

"Please, is he still here?"

"Let me check, room 156 – "

As soon as heard the number, Jared moved. After this guy slaughter his brother, he's just going to walk? No trial? The officer at the checkpoint tried to stop him, but he threw a left hook and broke the guy's nose.

Rounding the corner, he saw him, Clark Dodd, in a wheelchair being handled by some woman who might be his wife. 

"Hello?" Clark said as Jared came into the room. "Can I help you?"

"Oh, I think you can do more than that," Jared said. 

He wondered if blood would make his hair lie flat. Maybe it was high time he found out.

Meanwhile, down the hall, two more officers joined the fallen guard, who pointed after Jared. This was unnecessary, however, because that's when the screaming started. Both officers drew their weapons and ran.

By the time they got there, Jared Bennett was red. 

Clark Dodd and his wife were already dead, but Jared kept beating on their bodies with the lamp he had picked up, blood flying all around him like a Jackson Pollack. 

"Put down the weapon!" the officer ordered. "Now!"

Jared shouted, "You're helping them get away with it, you bastards. You're in on it!"

Rage sent Jared straight towards them. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! The officers kept firing until their guns were empty.


	4. Tables Turn

Dean nearly choked when he saw Sam pull his truck over to a screeching halt in his rear-view mirror.

"What the hell?" 

Just as quickly, Dean turned the Impala back. 

As it turned out, Sam was fine. He was on the phone. When Dean pulled up next to him, they both rolled their windows down.

"There was another one," Sam yelled.

"What? When?" 

"Just now, at the old hospital building," Sam replied. 

"But we just burnt the ghost's bones," Cas said. "The spirit should be at rest."

"Not if there's something the spirit is attaching itself to," Dean said. "Like Bobby's flask."

"Something like that could be anywhere," the angel said miserably. 

"No, it can't. It's gotta be at the hospital," Sam pointed out. "That's why it's picking victims up there. Look, let me go back and chat with creepy janitor. You two talk with the police?"

"Sounds acceptable," Cas replied.

 

The hospital was in a panic. Dean looked down at the man who had almost twenty bullets in him. 

"This was?" he prompted the officer next to him.

"Jared Bennett, came in here looking for the patient in this room," the officer said, although he remained enveloped in shock. 

"You shot him twenty times?" Cas asked.

"My partner and I... we came in and saw them over there, and told him to put down the lamp, and he just charged at us."

"Did he say anything to you before that?" Dean asked.

"Uh, yeah, said we were... 'in on it' or something. All I know, he barreled right at us. He didn't care that we had guns."

Meanwhile, Sam spoke with Floyd, who remained un-phased by the event. 

He asked, "Did Zach have anything, maybe jewelry, a ring, something he left behind?"

"No," Floyd said solemnly. "He came in with nothing. Left with nothing."

"Do you remember anyone else, besides Zach Calabrese, who died here – "

"Lots a people died here," Floyd interrupted. "But he was the only one who died so bad."

No matter how much he prodded, he couldn't get any more out of Floyd. For good measure, Sam dropped some salt on his skin but got no response. 

"Sorry about that, you know, condiments," he said. Then he made a break for Cas and Dean. 

He stopped at the scene of the crime. 

"Wait, this guy, he looks familiar," Sam said.

"He was the man we saw at the morgue yesterday," the angel said. 

"And you're just mentioning this now?" Sam asked.

"Is that important?" Cas replied.

"Yes, Cas, it's important! We need to regroup, see what else we've missed."

 

"Jared didn't visit anyone in the hospital before going mental. He went there already revved up," Dean spat. "So now we've got another crazy killer, another rampage, and a new pattern. Maybe he was just crazy. Or maybe it's a different spirit."

"Another one? That just happened to come out today after we burned the bones of its spirit buddy?" Sam retorted sarcastically. "No, Dean, we ganked the wrong ghost... if Zach was even a ghost at all."

"Awesome."

"You should both sleep," Castiel said.

"Cas, we just had another massacre. This thing is spit balling, we can't – "

" – but there are no new leads," Cas interrupted. "Even if there were, it's past midnight. I'll continue looking through the files, to detect any additional patterns, while you two sleep."

"You, looking through files?" Sam asked.

"I'm getting the hang of being semi-human," Cas said, an odd ring of pride in his voice.

"All right, let's try it."

Cas spread out the files on the four crazed individuals, like Sam had done, chronologically. It worked for him, maybe it would inspire the angel's understanding, too.

"Night Cas," Sam said, crashing into his pillow.

Dean curled up on his side of the bed. "Wake me if you find anything, as soon as you find anything," Dean shot to Cas.

"Sleep well."

 

Dean wasn't sure which was worse, the fact that Castiel had to be kept on lockdown in the bunker, or the fact that they had to have a special room for any kind of physical activity. It took the surprise out of things, certainly. 

He was sitting in their room, his back against the headboard, as Cas pulled out another blanket. 

"You shivered a lot last night."

Then he made a small sound, somewhere between pain and surprise. Dean looked up to see an angel blade through Cas's middle, poking out of his stomach. Behind him Crowley, madly grinning at his accomplishment.

"Cas!" 

Dean went to rush Crowley, but with a flick of his wrist, the Winchester was pinned against the headboard. 

"Love," the demon said, "always involves sacrifice. And your love requires your little angel here to be powerless. Looks like he'll pay the price for your love play."

"NO! CAS!" Dean screamed. 

There was no way this was real. Crowley was dead, and they were in the damn bunker! How did he - 

" – get in?" Crowley crooned, like he could read Dean's thoughts. "Your little bro might've had something to do with it, or his meat suit, I should say."

"No, that's not – this isn't real! This is a nightmare!" Dean bellowed. "Wake up!" 

He saw Castiel's eyes light up white and hot, his body fall back and his wings imprint ash on their bedroom wall and floor. Crowley was right next to Dean's face now. 

"You're not dreaming, kitten. I know all your tricks, and now, you're all mine – "

"Wake up, wake up, wake up," he chanted to himself.

"Dean," a voice echoed in his head. "Dean, can ya hear me?" The voice had a clear drawl to it, and it sounded familiar. Who was it? "Dean, you gotta hear me, brother, ya gotta listen okay?"

Suddenly he felt cold and... wet?

Dean's eyes opened. Cas was inches from his face. He had thrown water on him. 

"What, huh?"

"I didn't want to have to slap you again," the angel said evenly. "You had another one, didn't you?"

"Uh, what?"

"Another nightmare," the angel replied.

"A screaming crazy nightmare," Sam added. He sitting up in his bed.

"Yeah."

"Involving Crowley?" Sam asked.

"Definitely. Damn limey mook is still making my life hell even when he's dead," Dean said dismissively.

"This is serious," Castiel said. "This could be a spell or a curse."

Dean shook his head clear. "What time is it?"

"Almost six."

"Okay, look, I get it, you're worried, fine, whatever, but before we get all focused on me, let's finish this case," Dean said, sitting up. "People are dying here, I'm just having bad dreams."

Cas seemed ready to argue, so Sam stepped in with, "Did you find anything, Cas?"

"I did."

"And?"

"All four victims did visit one place before lashing out at their fellow man," the angel said simply. 

"You mean the hospital?"

"No, the morgue."

"The morgue?"

"Yes. The first three apparently suspected malpractice, that's when a doctor or medical practitioner – "

" – we know what it means, Cas," Dean cut him off.

"They all asked for an autopsy to confirm cause of death."

"Did you check who did the autopsies on those?" Sam asked.

"Doctor Hastings."

"And he also spoke to Jared Bennett yesterday," Dean added. "You find any connection between him and our ghost?"

"No, Hastings transferred here about three months ago," the angel replied. "According to the file," he added when the brothers gaped at him.

"Cas, this guy got here right before people started going crazy... that's not a coincidence," Dean said, pulling on his shirt.

"You think he's involved?"

"I think we need to check him out. He could be a witch, or if a relative to this Zach guy we toasted yesterday, he might have an object from him." 

Dean stomped off to the bathroom. 

Sam took the moment to ask, "Cas, what do you mean about Dean's nightmares?"

"An ordinary nightmare is just a byproduct of the brain's memory system and emotional processing," Cas said, trying and failing to keep the air of conversation. "But a normal nightmare doesn't have a hold on the individual. You can wake yourself up from one if you will it."

"You think this isn't a normal nightmare?" Sam asked, concern rising in his voice.

"Dreaming, special dreaming, is a liminal space for the soul. Even when angels were forbidden to take a vessel on earth, we could visit a human in that special space."

"Why would you?"

Cas replied, "Mostly because the human mind can comprehend a dream without exploding. Angels aren't the only ones who can communicate this way. It's possible something else is attempting to communicate with Dean."

"Is there some reason you think it's not angels?"

"I would know if it was." 

"What else has that kinda juice?"

"I don't know. But next time it happens, I'll be prepared to find out."

"You run that by Dean yet?" Sam asked.

The angel shrugged.

"Guys, seriously?" Dean poked his head out from the bathroom, his hair wet. He must've done a very quick shower. "People. Dying. Here. Now. Figure that out first."

"Get your ass out of the bathroom so I can clean up, then," Sam snapped.


	5. Snake Charmer

Doctor Hastings shook his head. "Sorry, Agents, I've never heard of Zach Calabrese... should I have?"

"We're just checking," Dean said. "Jared Bennett, the crying guy in here yesterday, you hear about him?"

"No, why?"

"He went crazy and bludgeoned two people," Dean replied. 

"Ah, well I was called in at six this morning to do autopsies on three bodies. Maybe he was one of them?"

"Look, right now, all these incidents are connected to this building. So have you noticed anything since you started working here?" Dean demanded. 

Hastings took his hand and put it on Dean's, no doubt as a sign of comfort or camaraderie. Then he said, "Agents, if I could help you, I would."

Dean pulled his hand away. "Right, thanks," he said.

"Get back to us on those autopsies ASAP, then," Sam added. "Thanks for your time."

Cas was already waiting by the Impala when the brothers approached.

"No EMF or hex bags or anything," he said. "Not anywhere in the building."

"So, nothing?" Dean said. "Awesome."

"There was something about the brains. They've been altered," Cas said.

Sam cut in, "We've been through this. They're supposed to be. Standard autopsy practice."

"Are you okay?" Cas shot at Dean. "You look... something's wrong."

Dean turned his head. His eyes shined with malice, and he weighed in with, "Right because a guy who's been to both purgatory and hell having bad dreams, that's weird, right? Can you just drop it?"

"No, Dean, I'm not talking about that," the angel said. "Sam, what did you do in there?"

"What?"

"Did he eat anything? Inhale anything? Touch anything?"

"What the hell, Cas!" Dean snapped. "Just because we've started this... this... whatever the hell this is, doesn't mean you gotta know everything little thing I do, okay? It's just creepy!"

Sam saw what Cas saw. "No, he didn't."

"He's been poisoned, Sam, think!"

"He didn't, but someone – " Sam started.

Dean's rant interrupted him. "It's bad enough I've got Sam whimpering and whining about every little thing, you doing, it, too Cas, no! Hell no! You're both in on this, driving me crazy! You - "

THWAP!

Sam knocked Dean unconscious with a strike to the back of neck. 

"Thank you, I didn't want to have to hit him again," Cas said. He heaved Dean's unconscious body into the back seat before he said, "You were saying?" 

"The coroner touched him," Sam replied.

"Then that is how he was poisoned, what do we do?"

"Something that can make you crazy with a touch?" Sam said, searching his brain for anything they'd have like that.

"A wraith," the angel said. "The poison is from one. I could heal him, but – "

"No," Sam interrupted. "We need to take out the thing that did this. We need silver."

The two moved back towards the morgue, silver blades hidden under their coats. 

"Agents?" Hastings greeted them as they came in. "Can I help you?"

"As a matter of fact," Cas said, "you can."

Sam took a small silver chain and threw it on the doctor's hand. He screeched, his skin crackling and popping. 

"Wraith it is, Cas, you're right," Sam said as he advanced on him, pulling out his knife.

"Don't let it touch you!" the angel cried as Hastings threw a punch. 

Sam brought the knife down short, hitting his forearm. Cas rushed towards the doctor, throwing his weight behind a long, silver blade that sank into the doctor's other shoulder. 

He laughed. A deep, screeching sound that shook the room. He grabbed both of them, "You're both mine, now boys!"

"You think?" Sam said as Hastings drew his hand away from Cas.

"What the hell are you?" the wraith said to the angel.

Cas responded by cutting off both his hands at the wrist, separating him from the spike in his palm. Then he decapitated the creature. 

"That was oddly satisfying," Cas commented. 

"We should go, Cas."

"Does this mean I get to drive?"

"Yeah, just, be careful, okay?"

 

Dean woke up on the road home, his head smarting and very pissed off. Not because of the wraith poison, just because.

"Damnit," Dean said. "A freaking wraith?"

"He apparently managed his appetite by working at the morgue," Cas said. "He could drink the fluids of the human brain with few, if any, being the wiser."

"But he wanted more, so he started making crazy killers."

"He capitalized on their insecurity, or their current emotional state, by poisoning them." 

Dean saw where this was going, and he didn't like it.

"Cas, what I said... it's not," he started.

"You should have mentioned your issue to me without being poisoned, Dean," his voice was angry. 

"It's not an issue."

"You show distain for my concern for your general well being," Cas snapped. "That is an issue."

Dean took a deep breath. "I hate this."

"You should have just told me."

"What? No, Cas, it's not... I didn't say anything before because it's not that simple."

He had hoped Cas would throw him a bone, but he remained silent. 

"Sam drives me crazy with that stuff because, honestly, it's me that's suppose to be patching him up. I just wanna forget it all, swallow it, move on."

Cas finally said, "It doesn't work like that."

"Sam says the same thing."

"He is correct."

"Cas... it's not you here, you get that right?"

"You're being foolish," Cas replied. "You still think that it's all on your shoulders. You're the only one who can care, or take care, of anyone else. How many times will you need to learn that that's not the case before you change your behavior?"

"Cas, it's not that simple."

"Then I will make it simple. You can tell me things, Dean, at no cost to your reputation, your image, your personal space, or our relationship," the angel stated. He no longer sounded angry.

"I know," Dean quietly replied.

"Then why don't you?"

"It's not like suddenly I can flip a switch and – "

" – trust people?" Cas completed. "Suddenly realize that saying things out loud does not make you weak or vulnerable?"

"I hate this," was all Dean could say.

"I understood what you meant when you said, 'We are men, and we don't talk about our feelings.' And I understand what you mean now. I just wish you would let me help you more," Cas huffed. "Without poison, or a curse, or a possession causing you to do so."

Dean sank back in his seat. Every relationship in his life, except the one with his father, suffered this particular hitch. He didn't know how to fix it, and while Cas basically gave him a road map, a path, forward, he wasn't sure he'd be able to follow. He wanted to promise Cas he'd try harder, to work more on this. He wanted to thank him for being so open, so forgiving, so clear... but all he managed to say was, "We'll see, I guess."

Cas started pulling off the highway. 

"What's going on?" Dean asked.

"Sam's pulling off, probably to refuel. Would you like to drive?"

Dean swallowed. "No, I'm fine."

"You're nervous I'm driving your car," the angel said.

"I'll get used to it."

 

Dean gassed up the Impala while Cas went in for snacks. The level of trust Dean suddenly foisted on the angel impressed Sam. First driving the car, then identifying the right foods to purchase. Cas's human training must've been going well.

Under the pretense of hitting the head, Sam went behind the Gas'n'Sip. He pulled out his phone.

"Agent Gage," she said when she picked up.

"It's Sam."

"Good to hear from you."

"Illinois definitely was something," Sam said. "A wraith."

"A what?"

"It was bad," Sam said, "but it's dead now."

"Is there anything you can do – "

"They were technically poisoned," Sam interrupted. "But I don't think the lab could run a test to prove it."

"How can you walk away from this stuff?" she asked. Then she added. "No judgment meant. I just - "

" – it's the job. I'm sorry I can't help."

"Can't help?" Dodge's voice brightened. Sam wondered if she had smiled. "Sam, I've been trying to get jurisdiction on that case for weeks. You had, what, three days? And you're telling me it's over. You helped."

"Right, I mean, help those other people," Sam said. 

"I still might be able to," she said. "Thank you, Sam, for calling."

"If you find anything else like this, will you call me?"

She laughed. "I'd like that, to add you to my speed dial."

"But?"

"I've got twelve other cases that all look, well, spooky," she said. "And that's just from this month. You might not want to open that door, Sam."

"Actually, I do," he replied. "Like I said, my brother's not keen on this but... when I can, I'll help."

"Then, I guess this means I'll be giving you a call next time," Dodge said. "Thank you, again, Sam."

"Bye."

Something kicked up in Sam's stomach. It was messy and warm and a little childish. It was nice. 

'No,' he thought to himself. 'You can barely trust this woman, and you certainly can't start to like her.' He reminded himself that she could still be after something else. 

Sam smiled at Dean in the passenger's seat. Cas was behind the wheel. His brother's white knuckles on the dash proved he was still coping with the new driver thing, but at least he was trying. 

"Home?" Sam said as he passed by the window.

Dean nodded.


End file.
